


Spellbound

by took_skye



Series: Living For the Night [3]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, F/M, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Sexual Content, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-13
Updated: 2011-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/took_skye/pseuds/took_skye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily discovers great rewards and risks in tailing a man like Officer George Foyet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spellbound

  
_"I'm a spy...I can see you...What you do...And I know." ~ The Doors, The Spy_

***///***

I stay in the shadows of the club, nursing my drink, watching him play the dance floor. You wouldn’t peg him as the type to dance, but there he goes. Switching off one girl for another, a smile for a smirk. He's good, too.

I’ve watched him for days now. I’ve followed his every move. I’ve uncovered three of his crash pads, two of his lovers, and one place where he squirrels away cash.

I know his glasses are fakes. He’s got 20/20 vision. He scavenged the lighter and two of his knives off the bodies of shooting victims.

I sip from my glass and keep the brim of the fedora I borrowed from Dr Reid pulled low. I leave my hands gloved as I watch him.

I know he’s fucking his new partner but his girlfriend at home thinks everything is wonderful in their game of house. Even if she finds out, he won’t care.

I know he’s keeping one boss in the dark while blackmailing the other. He has loyalty to no one.

The only things he obeys are his own impulses and the lure of his knives, those blades he twirls between deft fingers the way others do their pens and pencils. When bored, or stressed, he’ll flick open the steel and press it closed against his thigh. I've seen him. I've watched the look on his face. He loves those knives the way other men love their suits, cars, and women.

He’s light and strong on his feet, a lion amongst gazelles, women he tosses aside when they cease to amuse. This one, though, she brings a light to his eyes. I swallow a burn of Bourbon. My gut tightens, whispers that this one, she won’t survive whatever game he has in mind for the rest of the night.

How the hell does he get away with all this?

I leave a Jackson on the table as payment and slip around the sides of the crowd. They pay me no mind, too focused on drink and dance. I move into the start of the hallway and hear hurried, struggled, forced footsteps mixing in with drunken giggles and hushed voices.

I catch sight of the pair as they try a closet door. It's locked. They turn and I’m forced to slip out the back door. A giggling coo pushes me back to duck in a dark corner of the alley.

“I’ve seen all shapes and all sizes.”

I peer over the edge of a Dumpster. Light from the back of a flickering sign falls across the rear wall and outlines Foyet's shoulders. The blond's shuffling heels make spidery shadows on the dirty concrete. I see it in his body language, how he likes the risk of being out in the open. He gets a rush from knowing, no matter who walks by, who sees him, that they’ll say nothing. People do walk by: a drunken couple, a pack of young men. They don't do anything. I crouch, slinking around to the other side of the Dumpster.

And what will I do?

Watch.

I have no weapon. There's no way I can save the girl or protect myself. He has his gun, his knife, his cruelty, his physical prowess.

“You’ve never seen one like mine," he growls.

He pulls her close. Her thin arms snake up around his neck. He presses forward as she pulls back. They both reach the wall with a heated grunt.

I wait with bated breath for his knife. I know it’s coming. He needs it. Without it, he's just a man getting frisky in the alley with some dopey dame and that’s not Foyet. It's never been Foyet.

They move fast, no more than flashes, but I take it all in: how the light fills her blue eyes, the charcoal of his jacket, the trembling peach of his curled lips, her creamy thighs as he hauls her skirt past stockings.

The giggle is gone, swallowed by pants and moans. “So stop teasing and whip it out already.”

Running between their heaved breaths are my own, harsh in my ears. My heart pounds.

Her hands barely move but I know they’re working his belt and fly from the clicks and scrapes of metal. Fabric ruffles fabric. I glimpse a flash of belly. He lets out a long low moan as her hand works in the shadows. The blond floats up on his hands. He holds her against the wall, her back arching, nails digging, thighs clenching tight around his hips. Their kisses are little more than open mouths bumping off one another, nipping stray skin. They gasp into each other’s mouths, harsh little rescue breaths, just enough to keep one another going.

I can't look away.

My bewildered mind succumbs to what my body knows though. I imagine she's me, but he’s not him. He’s not anyone, really. Just a man I met on the dance floor, someone who convinced me that a quickie in the back alley was worth the dirt, the dark, the risk, and the rank stench of the streets; a man with a knife that he won't use, a man with strong sinewy hands and broad shoulders and...and...I'm breathing hard. I'm dizzy with it. Foyet's knees bend. She slips down. He straightens and she slides up, gripping the back of his neck. Her head falls back. She moans. He builds a steady rhythm that my hand, the one tucked between my thighs, follows.

The man in my fantasy isn't anyone, really. He's a man like Officer George Foyet, only…not.

The blond’s eyes fly open. She makes a choking sound. A shadow on her neck shifts, looks for a split second like the shape of his hand; I nearly jump and blink. Her throat arches. Did I miss the kill? The knife? The first release of her blood?

His face blocks hers from view as he muffles them both with his mouth. When he pulls back light catches their panting smiles. The only death either of them will experience tonight is the little one.

The moment her feet hit the floor they work to straighten themselves out. Garters realigned, belts buckled, shirts and skirts pulled down, collars folded back into place. She holds out her hand.

Foyet pulls a wad of cash out of his front pocket. He slaps it onto her palm.

“My pleasure, Officer.”

“I’m sure.”

The blond laughs, cool and calm, and walks away.

I huddle in my little corner, shaking and sweating. I pull my hand out of my crotch. I catch a whiff of myself and blush. The flick of a lighter and the hiss of burning paper pull me out of my reverie.

“Did you enjoy the show?” The cigarette brightens enough to make out the smirk on his lips.

The dancers aren't gazelles. The blond wasn’t either.

I am.

Foyet takes another drag, clicks shut the lighter, and stuffs it in a pocket. “Come on. Don’t make me go looking for you.”

I freeze.

“Fine,” he sighs, tucks the cigarette between his teeth.

He strides directly toward me.

Fighting isn’t an option, so I scurry back, keeping to the wall and hoping he’ll grab blindly and hit nothing.

I'm never that lucky.

He pulls me up by fedora and hair roots. I grab both in an attempt to lessen the pain. My feet leave the ground. He tosses me. I stumble, hit pavement that shaves layers from my knees, hands, and arms.

Foyet laughs between his cigarette-wedged teeth. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

I turn over to look up. He pulls the cig free, gives a heartier laugh before his tongue snakes out of his lips a moment. “And I thought Hotch hit a low with Dr Buddy Holly.”

“I’m not here for Hotch.”

Foyet takes another drag and steps toward me. “Really?” His brows arch a little. Then he shrugs. "Well, I’m a little spent now but gimme awhile. I’ll put you on my dance card.”

I move to gather myself up off the ground. I shoot him a look. “Not interested.”

“You just like to watch.” He lifts up a foot, puts the toe between my breasts, and gently presses me back into the alley gravel. “So, tell me, Ms Prentiss…it is Prentiss, right?” The shoe on my chest gains weight as he leans on it to get closer to my face. “Did you like what you saw?”

Pebbles and glass dig into already sheared flesh. “Not…what…” I need to force each word out now as he stands on my sternum. “I…expected.”

Foyet’s hand brings his cigarette up for one last drag before his flicks it away to die. “That so, huh?” He smirks, twists the boot, and draws a groan from me. “What were you expecting exactly?” His eyes widen playfully. "Oh wait…I know!" A hand slips behind him and returns with the flick of a switchblade. "Was it this?”

I turn my head, close my eyes.

“Were you expecting me to use my knife?”

The weight leaves my chest. I fill my lungs with oxygen as quickly as I can.

By the time I exhale he’s on top of me. “Come on, Prentiss, be a good girl,” he encourages, “open your eyes.” He pulls up my lids with his fingers. “Atta girl.”

I cough weakly.

"You didn't answer my question," he breathes. He holds up the knife. "Were you expecting me to use this?"

Knives seem longer, larger, sharper, and more deadly when directly in front of you. My eyes dart between his face and the blade. “You’re not the first guy to wave his weapon at me.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure I’m not." His face becomes a dangerous mask. “Now why have you been following me for the past few days?”

“Week actually.”

“Bully for you.” The blade grazes the underside of my chin. “Tell me why.”

“Curiosity.”

“About?” His knife glides along my jawline, caressing it in a cool line.

“You.”

Foyet brings his lips just inches from mine. I smell the other woman's breath still lingering in his mouth. “What do you want to know?”

“Does this really get you off?”

He starts to laugh, even sets his blade aside to do so, and keeps laughing as he stands up. I don’t dare move yet as he shakes his head, keeping up his little cackle as he moves around me and scopes the fedora off the floor. “You keep following me and you’ll find out.”

I brace myself by bleeding arms to sit up some. "That a threat or a promise?"

He sets the fedora atop his head, gives it a tilt, and winks. "It's a promise, darlin'."

He walks away, singing “The Spy” under his breath as he goes.

***///***

 _"I'm a spy in the house of love. I know the dream, that you're dreamin' of. I know the word that you long to hear. I know your deepest, secret fear" ~ The Doors, The Spy_


End file.
